Who Said Anything About Fallin In Love
by EleanorLilyPotter
Summary: David Karofsky dutifully kept up with his Bully Whips responsibilities after the Prom Disaster. No one said anything about a flirty friendly frustrating lunch, but Kurt Hummel never cared much about rules. After-Prom Kurtofsky.


Author's Note: After skirting away from writing any kind of Glee!fics, I finally caved and wrote Kurtofsky. Of course. This will _maybe_ become a multi-chaptered fic; if it does, it will definitely have an M rated sequel, because I wanted to make this a semi-friendship-growing-into-romance thing but wanted to keep the M scenes out.

Story and chapter title shamelessly stolen from The Hoisiers' "Who Said Anything About Falling In Love", which I think should be turned into THE Kurtofsky theme song.

* * *

><p>The moment he saw Karofsky (<em>David<em>) lurking just outside the classroom, Kurt had to smother down the urge to roll his eyes at the overgrown lump. Didn't he have anything else to do aside from his self-proclaimed role as the token teen gay's bodyguard? Or maybe, thought Kurt darkly, he was just reinvesting the time he used to spend smacking lockers with Kurt's body.

Shaking his head, he collected his books and followed the stream of students out the door. He smirked as he took in Karofsky's (_David's_) Bully Whips attire; it never failed to amuse and confound him how his bully-turned-guardian-angel could look so ridiculous in that absurd, ill-fitting beret and shiny red jacket and yet have looked so handso– averagely _not-too-bad-looking_ in a simple suit at the Prom. Not that they were talking about it. Of course not. People would be seeing Kurt Hummel begging Rachel Berry to give his wardrobe a plaid-themed makeover before David Karofsky actually decided to – god _forbid_ – confront his issues.

With newly brewed anger (he really had no idea where these _urges _came from lately) Kurt huffed and breezed past Karofsky (_David_) without a word, his nose high up in the air, his lips quirking up in a gleeful smile when he heard the boy trotting along behind him.

_This is fun. Wonder if he stops when I stop, too?_, he mused, biting his lip and swallowing down laughter.

They reached his locker and Kurt felt the recently diminishing (but still present) jolt of panic in his mind as it added Karofsky and lockers and came up with _run._ He rolled his shoulders, willing the feeling to vanish and put away his books. It was only when he was closing the locker that he remembered Blaine's picture inside.

Now, Kurt Hummel was not some starry-eyed, eyelash-fluttering thirteen-year-old with a pathetic crush. He knew there was no official requirement to gaze in worship at his boyfriend (ha! Take that, hetero-normative high school psyche) twice a day, but it still caught him out of guard how little attention he paid the picture nowadays. He had the walking and talking original, yes, but still – shouldn't he be at least _mildly_ starry-eyed when contemplating the chance of gazing into Blaine's soulful eyes twice a day?

Wasn't that his… _obligation_?

"You're gonna miss lunch," said Karofsky (_David_) quietly from behind him.

Kurt jumped, his hand coming up to his heart.

"Do that again and I'll _personally_ make sure Santana finds it crucial to accessorize you with a sparkly silver bell, _Karofsky_," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Back to last name basis, are we?," retorted the taller boy. "Whatever. You done staring at The Boyfriend?"

Kurt frowned but nodded, hurrying his step so he walked beside Karofsky (_David_), never letting himself fall behind the boy's longer legs. Karofsky (_David_) had been surprisingly snide-less about Blaine ever since the ill-fated Prom, mostly dodging any of Kurt's attempts to breach the subject. So what was this little jibe, now? He doubted his former bully would regress after coming so far, but no one had ever died from being overly cautious, and it would be awfully rude to die now when they were so close to Nationals.

"He is."

"Huh?," grunted Karofsky (_David_).

Kurt raised one eyebrow.

"Charming. I meant that he _is _my boyfriend. I can stare at his picture for as long as I want. I could take it off my locker and carry it around and stare at it some more. I could tape it to my shirt so every time I got slushied and had to clean up I could see –"

"What? Hold a fucking minute there, _when_ were you slushied?," asked Karofsky (_David_). He pulled Kurt to a slightly more secluded corner, a safe spot away from the over-crowded hallway, all the while eyeing him with concern.

"I wasn't! That's not the point! The point is, he _is _my boyfriend and if it makes you that uncomfortable, then –"

"Like hell. I don't care what you do with the fucking picture, get it tattooed, jerk off to it for all I care!," he growled, much like a large, wounded animal, and pushed off the wall, stomping away. Kurt shook his head, more confused than ever, and followed his lead. It _was _lunch hour, after all.

He caught up with Karofsky (_David_) just outside the cafeteria. Breathing in some much needed patience and counting to ten (in French – and backwards) in his head he tugged on the taller boy's sleeve, urging him to turn around. Karofsky's (_David's_) face was flushed and his eyes were very bright, bringing back the memory of his brief yet moving breakdown in front of the same boy he had once mercilessly bullied. Kurt sighed.

_What am I going to do with him?_

"What am I going to do with you, David?"

"Whatever, Hummel."

"Who's back to last names now, hmm? I want to help you, but there's only so much I can do if you won't tell –"

"Save it. I don't need help, 'm doing fine on my own, okay?," Karofsky (_David_) said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Will you quit interrupting? I don't know why I bother! You _do_ need help, in fact, you need a full year of therapy and maybe a dozen lessons in manners before you're fit for human consumption, so stop fighting off half of your already sparse support group, will you?," whispered Kurt fiercely, aware of the students going by.

Karofsky (_David_) glanced up, curious.

"What's the other half? Your boy-toy?," he said with a sneer.

"Please. As if Blaine would want to help you after the warm and cozy welcome you gave him last time you two met," said Kurt haughtily. "I meant Santana, you meatheaded wonder. She _is _your friend and, right now, you need those more than you need air, believe me."

Karofsky (_David_), who had scowled at Kurt's insult, was now giving him that half-smirk, half-leer that used to seem terrifying and now was only mildly creepy. In a somewhat dorky way, as Kurt was slowly becoming aware that Karofsky (_David_) really had no idea. Much like Kurt's own miserable attempts at being 'sexy', the jock apparently was unable to adapt his facial expressions to a non-threatening social intercourse. And he had not just thought of Karofsky (_David_) and intercourse in the same context.

"So, Kurt, are you my _friend?_," he asked, dragging the last word in a pretty smart-ass way for someone wearing a bright red beret.

Kurt scoffed and rolled his eyes, ready to give him his due when a brilliant idea (brilliant enough to outshine 's choice for the day of a canary-yellow vest) came to him. He needed to get Karofsky (_David_) talking to him, uninterrupted, somewhere Karofsky (_David!_) would feel safe in and would not be prone to causing a scene by stomping out again. Even if Kurt appreciated the drama of it, he really felt things had been going in a hopeful direction before Prom, and he wanted to get David (_Da– whoa, wait_) back on track.

"Have lunch with me," Kurt asked before he lost his nerve.

Karofsky's (_David's –honestly)_ eyes widened and he swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Kurt waited.

"L-lunch?," the jock finally stammered.

"Lunch. A sometimes social occasion involving the consumption of a light midday meal between breakfast and dinner. Or, in your and my stepbrother's case, a once in a day chance to shove barely edible goods down your throats," said Kurt mildly. "Take your pick."

"You calling me fat again, Kurt?," snorted Karofsky (_David_), keeping his eyes on the wall behind Kurt.

"What are you talking about, I've never –"

"In the locker room. You know," he said urgently in the face of Kurt's blank stare, "before I… before I k-kissed you."

Kurt felt a strange twist just below his ribcage, hearing David (_so that's how it is?_) admitting to it for the first time. David _had _apologized, but, heartfelt as Kurt never doubted it was, it had been over quickly, and been pretty general.

He waited for the lurch to follow, that wave of powerlessness and misery that the memory of his first kiss never failed to invoke. He waited and waited, and it never came. Only that small, warm coil of unfamiliar feeling still twisting and beating steadily in time with his heart.

"Are we talking about it, then?"

"No!"

"You brought it up."

"Did not."

"Did too – oh, honestly, David!," he glared at the other boy who was now struggling not to smile, his lips pressed tightly together. And now he was staring at David's (_this is turning out incredibly well_) lips. Fantastic.

"Fine. We won't talk about it. You'll seat with your jock friends, discuss all the unspeakable things you want to do with Santana's very female-y breasts and all will be just _fine_."

"Do you wanna sit with me?"

"And risk giving all your little friends _the gay_? I wouldn't dream of it," said Kurt with a huff, already turning away.

"No, wait, jus'… Come on, Kurt, don't be a bitch."

"_Excuse_ me?"

"I'm sorry! Look, we'll just get our own table, okay? Away from them," said Karofsky (_David, please!_) throwing up his hands in surrender.

Kurt glanced at him with suspicion. The jock sighed and stuffed his hands inside his jacket pockets, tracing a shaky line on the floor with the tip of his ratty sneaker. Kurt pondered the offer; it _was_ what he wanted, after all. A chance to talk it out with Karofsky (_Da-vid. David._), to clear the air after the Prom Storm. Besides, with Tina, Quinn, Lauren and Brittany sitting by their boyfriends at the jocks' table (and when had _that _happened, the glee club was in grave danger of becoming marginally cool, _what was this_), Mercedes and Rachel brainstorming another diva-off in the choir room, and Santana off to sulk over Brittany and Artie's reconciliation, he only had a choice between eating with Karofsky (_David, for Gaga's sake._) and eating alone. Which was too depressing to even consider, he thought, shoving away any small, warm feelings snuggling around his lungs.

"Okay, then. But only because I don't feel like eating alone today," he said snottily, walking past Karofsky (_David…_) into the overcrowded cafeteria, stifling an undignified giggle at his lunch mate's whispered "_You_ asked to have lunch with me, _goddamnit_ Fancy".

They sat down on the first empty table they could find, Karofsky (_Daaaavid_) mumbling under his breath every once in a while. Kurt watched him has they set their trays down and began to eat; he noticed how the jock's hands practically engulfed his soda can, counted the times his tongue would poke out to wet his lips, and blushed when Karofsky (_David, David, David_) looked up quizzically. Kurt looked away slightly flustered, his eyes settling on the jocks' table where Finn sat eyeing them in plain confusion and Azimio was shaking his head and smirking as if enjoying a private joke. This, of all things, surprised Kurt. Shouldn't Karofsky's (_David's!_) best slushying-buddy be angry at him, or at least mildly disgusted?

But Azimio seemed… _amused_.

"Did you tell Azimio?," Kurt asked with a sudden inspiration.

Karofsky (_David_) coughed, choking on his food, and reached for the glass of water Kurt was holding out to him, exasperation written all over his face. Kurt waited until the boy was more composed and looked at him expectantly.

"Tell Z what?," asked the jock defensively.

"You _know_, about…," said Kurt, waving his hand emphatically in Karofsky's (_David's_) general direction.

"What about, Kurt?," insisted the Bully Whip, smirking provocatively.

Kurt narrowed his eyes.

"You do understand I would have no issue whatsoever with getting up on this table and letting _everyone_ know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you David?"

The jock paled and looked around furtively, making Kurt lean forward, his elbows on the table and a secretive smile playing on his lips.

"But I won't. I told you, I don't believe in outing people."

"Oh, yeah? Didn't seem like it to me," said Karofsky (_David_) with a sneer.

Kurt's brow furrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"You seemed pretty set on it at Prom."

"So that's what this is all about?," asked Kurt, his eyes widening.

Karofsky (_David_) scowled and looked away.

"David…"

"Look, I can't be Prince Charming, all right? I'm not… I can't do this, Fancy. I can't be your Prom King, I can't dance with you to the cheesiest, _faggiest _song ever, and I can't be whoever the fuck you want me to be, okay?," said David (_I see how it is_) in one breath, his fists clenching on each side of his tray. His eyes were very dark.

"No one's asking you to be _or_ do anything, David. I don't need a Prince Charming, I –"

"Yeah, you already got The One, right?," he said snidely, lowering his eyes. "Prettiest prince in the town for Fancy, what a _dream_."

"Blaine doesn't matter, David!," said Kurt, blushing and backtracking when David looked up at that, a strange but not quite unfamiliar glint in his eyes. "I mean, this is about _you_! Do I wish you'd stayed and danced with me after that little stunt your buddies plus half the school pulled? Yes, I do! But I_ understand _how it might have too much for you to handle, and that's alright." Kurt took a deep breath and looked around assuring no one else near them had any pressing interest in their half-whispered discussion. "And if I ever hear you use that word again, in any manner or form, I will make Santana tear down this Bully Whips nonsense and spread the word on your very tiny penis."

David blanked at that, staring at Kurt with his mouth agape. Then, the very moment Kurt was considering reaching out and pushing the jock's jaw closed himself, David laughed. It was explosive enough to temporarily shush the students near them, and apparently loud enough to reach the jocks' table. Kurt glanced away from the admittedly endearing sight of his former bully choking to death on his own mirth, and again noticed how Azimio seemed to be containing a sort of smile.

"I'm really sorry, Kurt, okay?," said David, still mid-chuckling.

"You have said that. Sorry for what, exactly?," said Kurt airily, mentally waving off Azimio's reactions as the result of one too many concussions.

"For accusing you of trying to take a peek at my junk," said David with a leer.

"Whatever do you mean? For all the things you could apologize for, that wasn't exactly first and foremost on my list."

"Yeah, well, I was wrong, right?"

"_Oh_, let me count the ways."

"Way I see it… if you _had_, _that _wouldn't be the rumor you were gonna be spreading, Fancy," finished David with a suggestive eyebrow wriggling.

Kurt stared at him bemused until the meaning struck home, making him blush a violent red and glare at the extremely amused jock in front of him. He composed himself quickly and smiled, leaning forward even further, propping on elbow on the table and resting his chin on his hand. He let his eyes sweep over the jock, looking down and then up again, deliberately slow, enjoying the way David tensed and squirmed under the scrutiny.

"Fascinating," he said, taking note of the way David's Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed drily. He tilted his head to the side, and lowered his eyes, looking up at David through his eyelashes. "Wonder where I can get hard _evidence_?"

At that he couldn't keep it up any longer and fell apart in a chuckling fit, much like David's previous one. Looking up again, his eyes swimming in mirthful tears, he almost lost it again at the sight of David's face. He looked remarkably close to hyperventilating,

"Oh, come _on_, David, relax."

David glared at him.

"_You _started it," said Kurt, nodding.

The jock shrugged and rolled his neck, resuming the demolition of the food pile on his plate. Kurt noticed his lips were bent in a slight pout that would deepen between mouthfuls.

Then he realized he was staring at David's lips.

_Again._

Combating the unhealthy urge to pound his head on the table, he sipped his water, wondering how he could best breach the subject of Prom.

"So. When _did _you tell Azimio?"

"'S that?

"You. Azimio. The Grecian way of love. Narnia."

"How'd you figure?"

"Well, he's been all but giggling like a first grader on a mushroom trip ever since we sat down, and while I'd be flattered to believe my outfit today is so well-put together it managed to bring out the gay in every jock's bi, I really doubt it as far as Azimio is concerned. After all, if I were a gambling man, I would have put my money on Sam a long time ago and he hasn't even glanced this way so far." Kurt wrinkled his nose when David picked up a French fry that had slipped from his plate to the floor and popped it into his mouth shrugging. "You know you _will _die of food-poisoning someday, don't you? God, the things you put in your mouth." Catching himself, Kurt snarled, "And don't you dare make some crude joke out of this."

"Not my fault you speak in innuendos, Fancy," said the jock, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm surprised you even know the word."

"Must have picked it up somewhere, not even sure what it –"

"Stop it, David. Cub Scout, _A-student_; you're a junior and you're taking Calculus, don't pretend you're any kind of stupid."

"Like your step-brother?," said David, smiling even wider.

"Shut up," said Kurt good-naturedly. "Finn is… he's sweet. He may not be the brightest yellow crayon in the box, but he's a good brother to me. He's a good person."

David fell silent at that, seemingly absorbed in re-arranging the remains of his meal in neat little piles around the edge of the plate. Kurt watched him silently, his own meal long forgotten.

"You're not too bad yourself, David," he risked, some minutes later.

"That right?," David whispered glumly.

"Yes. You've done awful things to me, to the others in glee club, even to yourself. But you're trying to fix it, I know you are," said Kurt in a low voice. "You've apologized, you've gone out of your way to be nice to people lately, and you kept wearing that ridiculous costume even after your Prom coronation. And believe _me_, if _my _road to redemption were to involve that beret in any way, I'm not so sure I'd be as eager to jump on that particular train as you were."

David let out a barked laugh.

"´S not so bad. In a way, I feel kinda like you sometimes."

Kurt gasped in mock horror.

"Take that back! You lose more brownie points for that _little _insult to my sense of fashion that if you were to slushie me ten times in a row, _Karofsky_!"

David threw him a paper bullet, narrowly missing Kurt's hair.

"You know what I mean. You just wear what the hell you want, haters be damned. And yeah, you kinda shove it in everyone's faces: who you are and what you want _and how_, and I used to hate you for it."

Kurt looked about to retort, but David held up one hand, halting him.

"I don't mean cause I thought your clothes were fa– kinda too gay, but because no matter how hard I tried to hide, you kept popping out like a fucking persistent jack-in-a-box anywhere I went, shoving what _I _was in my face. And I tried, Kurt, I really fucking tried. I kissed a ton of girls, thinking if I just _found _the right one, my _type_, then I'd feel something and it'd be all right."

David looked down at where his hands rested on top the table and Kurt blinked, seeing how close David's hands were to his. He must have been reaching out to the other boy during his speech, without even realizing.

"It never was, though. Closest I got was with this chick that worked at the mall arcade during the weekends. I thought I'd got it right, _fucking finally_, because I felt something different when I saw her from far away, you know? She had short hair, and was sort of flat-chested, really athletic," he paused when Kurt sniggered and looked up, rolling his eyes, "yeah, laugh it out, I came to my senses sooner than later, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"Whose idea was to choose fucking '_Push It'_ for the glee club's presentation at the assembly, anyway? Hudson's?"

Kurt blinked, his eyebrows shooting up.

"Rachel's, actually, but why –"

"Fucking evil bitch."

"David, what – and don't call her that."

"What, I thought you didn't like her."

"I… you wouldn't understand."

"For someone who thinks I'm _oh so clever_…"

Kurt smirked.

"I never said that. I implied you might not be as thick as people would assume."

"Can't get my junk out of your mind, can you Fancy?"

"Okay, I'm warning you, one more –"

"Lighten up, Hummel, I'm just playin'."

Kurt huffed and leaned back in his chair, his nose high up in the air. David chuckled and leaned back himself, inching his left feet closer to Kurt's. They sat quietly for a few minutes, David sipping his drink and watching Kurt, and Kurt looking anywhere but at him, both mindless to the slowly emptying cafeteria.

"So, David. Azimio. Shoot," said Kurt finally caving in to the silence.

"Meh, he's not really my type."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you! Urgh, if I had a pillow I'd throw it at you," said Kurt, looking around frankly as if expecting a pillow to materialize nearby.

"Oh-oh, _mean_."

"Shut up, Neandhertal."

"Fancy Pants."

"Hamhock."

"'Likes Boys'."

"Meathe – wait. What kind of insult is that?," asked Kurt, frowning.

"Never said I was insulting you," said David pointedly.

"But… oh, fine, I'm _sorry_."

"Funny. I think that's my line."

"No, I… You don't get to insult me and neither do I." Kurt bit his lip and tilted his head, searching David's eyes with his own. "Now tell me. How long has Azimio known?"

"´Bout a week, give or take."

"How?"

"He was giving me shit about the Bully Whips and walking you to class – just riling me up, right? And then he said he knew Santana was into Brittany, 'cause he'd heard them talking or whatever, and I didn't seem happy for a guy who must be getting a threesome every other night, so was I just fine with being my girlfriend's beard? And then he just changed subjects and started dissing you and – and your boyfriend, and asking if I did your laundry and carried your fucking love letters or some shit, and it was nothing, _nothing _like the things he –" David shuddered, his mouth twitching unpleasantly. "_We_ used to say about you, but… I don't know. I just lost it."

Kurt kept his expression neutral, trying to convey as much acceptance as he could in one look, without looking uncomfortably constipated.

"I lost it, I – I told him everything. ´Bout me, ´bout you… everything."

"And Azimio?," Kurt whispered, genuinely concerned.

David shook his head and grimaced.

"He said he knew. He said he'd fucking _known _for some time now. He was just tryin' to get me to come clean about it."

"R-really? And he was… fine?"

"Well… he kinda punched me."

Kurt gasped.

"'Kinda'? What do you mean, 'kinda'? David, are you alright?"

"Aww, Fancy, I didn't know you cared," he said with a playful smirk.

Kurt scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest, kicking David under the table.

"OW! _What _in the actual fuck! That _hurt_!"

"Well try not be such an asshole next time, then!"

"Thought you weren't insulting me anymore," said David, pouting slightly and rubbing the sore spot on his leg.

"Friends reserve the right to insult one another when the occasion arises. I felt the occasion had very timely arisen," said Kurt, pointedly ignoring the way David's knuckles had grazed the light fabric of his pants for a fraction of second.

"We're friends then?," asked David, his eyes searching Kurt's face anxiously.

"Let's call it that and move on. Now tell me what happened with Azimio," said Kurt dismissively,

David looked slightly deflated but didn't prod.

"So he punched me. Then he hugged me. Then he tried to punch me again, but I ducked. Then he gave me a pat on the back and told me to try flowers next time," said David, blushing as he gave a one-shouldered shrug.

Kurt tried to process it, but it seemed entirely out of his league. He sometimes wondered if jocks weren't all a bit touched in the head, with all their built-in panic of physical intimacy with the same sex and the blinding mechanism that allowed them to set free all the aforementioned pent-up need for touch during ball games. He shook his head and settled for being happy knowing David hadn't been shunned out by his best friend.

"What about your parents?"

"What about them?"

"David, I am _not_ going through all that again."

"Fine, don't get your panties in a twist."

"David…"

"Jesus, Fancy, it's a joke!"

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes at the flustered jock.

"I know it's a joke, David. I want you to tell me about your parents, now. Stop deflecting."

"They… they know."

Kurt felt his mouth fall open and his eyes bulging. What a day this was turning out to be.

"They know? How did they take it? When did you tell them? Did they throw you out? Tell me you're not living in your car, David! Oh my god, did they take away your car, _then _throw you out? You're not homeless now, are you? _Oh my god_, you're Patches!"

"Fuck, Kurt, take a pill! No I'm not living in my car, of course they didn't throw me out! Haven't you met my father? Does he look like he'd do that to anyone, let alone his own kid?"

Kurt bit the inside of his cheek contritely, and waved at David to continue.

"He came to me actually, the day you came back," the jock said quietly, his voice breaking momentarily on the last word. "Said he was glad I was getting back on track, and my grades were coming up again and some other stuff I don't remember and then –"

"Then?," urged Kurt, leaning forward into David's personal space without even noticing.

"He said 'You know you can tell me anything, don't you son?' And he gave me this _look_, I just… I guess I broke down. Been doing that a lot lately, huh?" David sighed noisily and rubbed his face with one hand. "Anyway, what's up with everybody just _knowing_, uh? Santana knew, _then_ my parents, _now_ Azimio, what the fuck's going on? Do I have some sort of homo mark on me, or what?"

Kurt dismissed the slur for the moment, enjoying David's mortification too much to chastise him.

"Well…"

"What? Fucking _what_?"

"I guess the clothes don't help much," Kurt said, holding his hand to his mouth, trying to conceal a widening smile. "I mean, _berets_. Really, David? Really?"

"Would you get off the goddamn berets?"

Kurt nodded, chuckling. He reached with one finger to tip David's accessory slightly to the side. As his hand retracted he noticed David's face: it seemed like a hurricane had taken over, the way his eyes shifted from Kurt's hand to his face, his mouth twitching every now and then, his brow furrowing in utmost concentration to hold something back, _whatever it was_. Kurt shivered, taking in the intensity of David's bright hazel eyes. That was something he thought he could never get used to; how every flicker of emotion seemed to leave a deep mark on the jock's face. Blaine was so much more difficult to read, his born refinement always working against Kurt's efforts to connect.

And why he was he comparing David to his boyfriend, he had no idea.

"That is great, David! No, no, scratch that, it's amazing! You should be hurrahing all over the school!"

David laughed quietly and glanced shyly at Kurt, his eyes fond.

No, not fond. Friendly. Caring, in a you-are-really-weird-but-it's-alright-because-we're-buds kind of way.

Really.

Kurt sighed.

"I think I'll pass for now, if you don't mind too much. Still not looking forward to getting beaten up by the entire hockey team," David said, looking away.

"It's okay, David. I mean… the people who _really _matter know, right? Your parents, your best friend–"

"You," whispered David, still facing away from Kurt, who sighed again. David frowned and glared at him.

"No, stop that, okay? I know you have your poster-boy for out and proud gayness. You don't need a closet case whose favorite pastime used to be roughing you up because he was so pathetic he thought touching you like that would be enough to get him through another day."

"David –"

"No, Kurt, okay? I know how it goes. There's no fucking rose, and no fucking mirror, and when the curse gets done away with? _No fucking prince_."

Kurt's vision blurred a little as David bent his head, taking off his beret and wringing it in his hands.

"I could just kill Berry right now," he said out of the blue, startling Kurt.

"W-what?"

"It was that damn dance, I know it was. It was so much easier before. I could just ignore you and be on my way, but that dance… Damnit Fancy, you have some fucking moves," he said, chuckling darkly.

"P-push it?"

"Push it _good_, right? I thought you were doing it on purpose. Still surprised you didn't color the whole audience rainbow for you that day."

"You can't turn –"

"Turn anyone gay, I know, we're born with it or some shit. I saw your t-shirt."

"You said we."

"What's that?"

"You said '_we _are born with it', David. That's real progress, you know?"

"Whatever," said David, standing up and putting his beret on again. Kurt followed his lead and, as they went to put away their trays, he couldn't help but imagine how it would be when David came out to the school. He hoped he wouldn't suffer even a quarter of what Kurt had endured, and that surprised him. Wasn't there even the littlest bit of hunger for pay-back inside him? Some thread of an-eye-for-an-eye mentality? Then he replayed the faraway look in David's eyes as he bared his feelings to Kurt. No, he couldn't wish him evil. After all, they _were_ friends now.

David turned to him and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Kurt nodded and walked beside him in easy silence. Reaching Kurt's classroom, David nodded and seemed about to walk away when Kurt's hand shot out of its own accord, his fingers clutching David's jacket.

"Have lunch with me again tomorrow, David."

David sighed and shifted, looking up for some kind of answer before his eyes again fell on Kurt.

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend. Friends have lunch. Often at the same time. Maybe even at the same table, who knows. Let's go crazy," said Kurt with a bright grin.

"Is this pay-back?"

"What?"

"I'm built like two and a half of you, so you figured you'd get back at me like this instead of a good old slushie-fest?"

Kurt shook his head, the grin firmly plastered to his face.

"No? Yeah, you'd say that."

"Come _on_, _Dave._"

David swallowed and licked his lips, his gaze never leaving Kurt's face. They stood like that for the best part of a minute, every student that walked past them stifling any spark of curiosity at the sight of David Bully Whip Karofsky. David was the first to give in.

"Fine. But no more of that coming-out talk, okay? I already came out enough in the last month to last me for a whole fucking year."

"Ah, but you're getting so good at it! Practice makes perfect, David," said Kurt with a teasing smile as he escaped into the classroom. He saw David following him with his eyes until he sat down, then nod and walk away to his own class. Kurt felt a fluttering of unidentified origin in his chest and blamed it on the cafeteria's undercooked food.

That night, after answering Blaine's three texts with a noncommittal "Extremely busy day. Call you tomorrow?" he lay back and closed his eyes, a flash of hazel crossing his mind before sleep overtook him.


End file.
